


Doing Something Rash

by shadowsong26



Series: Devoted!verse [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: AU, AU - the Clone Wars happened/the Empire rose 28 years ahead of schedule, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dooku and Obi-Wan are also in this, Gen, Genocide, Heavily Implied/impending character death, Order 66, and he's trying, but he's here, but it's mostly Bail, seventeen-year-old Bail who is probably in over his head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 11:50:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19198213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsong26/pseuds/shadowsong26
Summary: The Temple is burning, and Bail makes a choice.Companion toThe Devoted





	Doing Something Rash

Bail was, technically, supposed to be doing research.

And he was, mostly. Or he _had_ been, anyway, for most of the evening; pulling up and compiling the statistics and other salient data points the Senator wanted as backup, in case her prepared remarks for the bill she planned to introduce in tomorrow morning’s session needed some extra oomph.

(Of course, he sort of got the impression that no one really _listened_ to Senator Celchu, or anyone else. Not anymore.)

He’d had about five screens’ worth of notes prepped, but then Rina had sent him a link to a video on the ‘net, of a team of skiing acrobats, wanting him to help her talk her girlfriend into trying it next time they went home, and _that_ had sent him down a winding path into a series of related videos (for a given value of ‘related’) and…

And then he hit a ‘CONTENT BLOCKED’ wall, and sighed.

_Should probably get back to work anyway…_

On the other hand, five screens _might_ be enough, and it was harder than usual to focus these days. The past few weeks--he’d’ve thought the tension would’ve gotten _less_ after the Chancellor’s near-death experience, but it still felt like a storm brewing, always just on the edge of breaking.

Even if it never did.

And that had been _weeks_ ago.

It was just…frustrating. The feeling like things were about to fall apart somehow, and there was _nothing_ he could do to help. So he worked late, didn’t go out with Rina and the other interns as much as he used to, and held his breath. Just like everyone else on Coruscant.

...well, maybe not _everyone._ Some people had different responses to the stress. A few of his peers stayed up late doing things entirely unrelated to work--some of them drank too much; some of them experimented with less-legal intoxicants; some of them slept around; some of them did all of those things, or just found _any_ distraction they could, trying to think of anything else.

Or not think at all.

Bail just--worked. As if, if he stayed late enough, filed enough papers right, found enough supporting evidence for Senator Celchu, everything would be _right_ again. Like it was when he was a kid, before the War had started.

It was pretty much impossible, he knew that. For one thing, he wasn’t all that sure a time like that had ever _really_ existed. He knew damn well his parents had sheltered him from a lot of ugliness over the years. That he’d been lucky, for so much of his life. He’d learned that, since coming to Coruscant to work for the Senator. And the War hadn’t happened overnight; the Separatists had some genuine grievances that...

Well. Part of the problem with freedom of choice was that people were also free to make _bad_ choices. Like starting a war. Like refusing to come to the table and negotiate. Like…something. Hell if he really knew.

Bail sighed again, and stretched, trying to ease the crick in his neck, before switching to the home screen on his ‘pad to check the time. _After 2300. I could probably call it a night, the Senator won’t hold it against me, and it’s not like I’m actually getting any_ work _done anymore anyway--_

And then an alert scrawled across his screen, in bright red Aurebesh:

 

_Incident in progress. Lockdown procedures have been initiated. All nonessential personnel are to report to quarters and remain there until the alert is lifted, by order of the Chancellor’s office._

 

It wasn’t the first message like that Bail had received. Far from it. The most recent, of course, had been when Separatist ships had blockaded the planet and the Chancellor had been abducted. And, obviously, Senator Celchu had run about a dozen drills just in the past couple of months, wanting to make sure all of her staff knew _exactly_ where they were supposed to report. Who was to stay on duty, who was to head to medical or security stations as a volunteer or liaison, and who was considered nonessential.

Bail, of course, fell into that third category.

He stuffed his datapad into his bag, which he slung over his left shoulder, and then headed for the door. Probably wasn’t safe to drive over to the residence, but there was a bunker under the offices for Senators and their staff where he could--

He caught sight of the smoke outside the window and paused.

_Is that--that’s coming from the Temple._

A sick sense of dread started building in his stomach. Either the Temple had been attacked again, or the Council really _was_ up to something and this was some kind of…some kind of crackdown…

_The Order looks after its own,_ he reminded himself.

But even though that was true…

Bail knew what everyone knew. Or, he knew what everyone _said,_ which wasn’t necessarily the same thing. He’d never actually _met_ a Jedi, but the Senator had, and she generally thought well of the Order as a whole and valued her personal contacts very highly. And Bail trusted Senator Celchu’s judgement on just about everything. _Way_ more than he trusted rumors, or even the news.

And he…

He was just an _intern._ Sure, that meant he maybe knew more than the general public, but he knew a lot _less_ than most people would think. It wasn’t like he actually had access to anything particularly sensitive, or confidential.

But he heard things. He _saw_ things he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to. And he knew--he knew there was a subtle tightness to the Senator’s smile, a deadly seriousness behind her eyes, when she talked about certain decisions the Chancellor had made, especially lately.

He watched the smoke curl up from the Temple, and hesitated.

_The Order looks after its own. And the Council is--there’s_ something _going on, with them and the Chancellor and the GAR and the War and I don’t know enough. I_ don’t know enough _to make that call. But...but I_ do _know that the Senator has more faith in them than in His Excellency. And I know that…_

He closed his eyes.

_Whatever the_ Council _may or may not be doing, there are_ kids _who live there. Actual innocents, whatever the adults in their lives…the adults in their lives don’t matter. Not for this._

_But the Order looks after its own._

_Unless…_

The tension of the last few weeks drew in around him.

Bail wanted to help. He wanted to make things _better._ That was why he was _here,_ working for the Senator, wasn’t it? Despite all his parents’ objections.

And he couldn’t help unless he knew what was actually going on. And he couldn’t do _that_ unless…

Yeah. Yeah, everything was suddenly clear. He knew _exactly_ what he had to do.

Bail opened his eyes again, and let his bag slide to the floor before he darted for the nearest lift. If they were under a lockdown, he had a few minutes, at most, to get down to the garage and borrow a speeder. Just like he had a half-dozen times before, both for official business and to sneak out with his friends.

And maybe--probably--there wouldn’t be anything he could do once he got there.

But he was kriffing well going to _try._

 

* * *

 

Bail thought he was going to be sick.

What he’d seen--how fast he was driving--the pulse of pain from his burned shoulder--what he’d _seen--_

It was…it was…

_I shouldn’t have--no._ He took a deep, shaky breath, tried to calm down. _No, coming here wasn’t wrong, what was wrong was…was…oh, stars above._

He jerked his speeder off to one side, away from the flow of traffic, and he actually _was_ sick.

He’d seen--he’d seen--he’d seen some of the aftermath of other Incidents here on Coruscant. And while the Senator hadn’t brought him along on any of her post-combat relief missions, he’d seen footage on the news--and even a little bit of what was deemed not suitable to share with the general public, once or twice--of battles and their aftermath.

But that was _nothing_ like this. Nothing like a _kid,_ younger than him, not even old enough to _be_ in the GAR yet even by Jedi standards, which were weird, and wasn’t that part of what everyone said, that the Order sent its _children_ into battle?

(They didn’t; Senator Celchu wouldn’t’ve trusted them if they did; so it had to be different; but…but…)

He threw up again.

Shaking a little, he half-turned back to the Temple, drawn to it like gravity, as much as he wanted to just keep driving, to disappear into traffic and forget--

_Wait, what was that?_

There, again--a flash of light, something flickering at the edge of what was maybe an entrance to one of the lower levels? A window, maybe? A tunnel, a drain, a--

His brain finally caught up.

_There’s someone--can I get there? Without being seen, without being...?_

He swallowed hard and _did not think_ of the dead kid on the Temple steps. Of how close _he_ had come to…

The blaster burn on his shoulder twinged when he thought of it.

He’d come here to help, hadn’t he? He couldn’t run away now, not if there was _any chance_ he could follow through.

_I think I can. I_ think _I--yes. Yes, I can get to that entrance. I_ have _to._

Before he could change his mind or start panicking again, he changed gears and carefully, _carefully,_ trying to act as naturally as he could, drove the speeder in that direction.

Standing, half in shadow, at what the end of what looked like a maintenance access tunnel for environmental controls or something, was a tall, lean man. He was around Senator Celchu’s age or maybe a few years younger, bearded, wearing scorched, bloody Jedi robes, and holding a deactivated lightsaber in his left hand. His right was injured somehow; the arm hung limp at his side.

Bail recognized him from the news--Jedi General Yan Dooku.

He pulled up to the tunnel, put on the parking brake, and waited.

Dooku studied him for a moment, face unreadable, and then spoke. “Can you get them to safety, boy?”

And that was when Bail saw them--clustered behind Dooku, a group of six or seven kids. Most of them toddlers, apart from one who was maybe ten or so? (Bail didn’t have siblings, he couldn’t tell kids’ ages super well, how the _kriff_ was he supposed to--)

“Look at me,” General Dooku said. “Boy. _Look at me.”_

Bail’s eyes found Dooku’s, and he was breathing a lot steadier now. Okay. That was--he could work with that. With this. He just had to focus.

“Can you get them to safety?” Dooku repeated.

_Don’t get trapped in the problem,_ he told himself, before he could spiral off into panic again; it was something Senator Celchu said fifty times a day. _Focus on the potential solutions. Even if they’re not perfect, they’re still a place to start._

“I--yes,” Bail said. “Yeah. I can--I can do that. I work for--I’m Senator Celchu’s intern, and she’ll--I’m sure she’ll--if she can’t...I’ll figure something out.”

Dooku studied him for another moment, then nodded once, sharply. “That will do.”

He turned to the children--the ten-year-old looked confused, and more than a little upset, and started to say something. Dooku shook his head and knelt down next to him, murmuring something Bail can’t quite catch, resting his uninjured hand on the kid’s shoulder.

Bail, not wanting to intrude, climbed out onto the ledge and busied himself with loading the younger kids-- _they’re being weirdly quiet; must be a Jedi thing, I’m pretty sure toddlers aren’t usually this quiet?_ \--as quickly and safely as he could into the backseat of his borrowed speeder.

He looked at the safety restraints in something like despair. He didn’t think he could get them to connect like this, and even if he did, at least a couple of the kids would still be just...floating here.

_Don’t get trapped in the problem._

He took a breath, and let it out, and did some quick mental geometry before helping the last kid up onto the seat. They just _barely_ fit, which _might_ work.

“Hold on to each other, okay?” he said. “As tight as you can. We’ll get out of here. It’s going to--” _it’s not, don’t say that, don’t lie to these kids_ “--we’ll get out of here.”

One of the kids nodded solemnly and grabbed the hand of the girl next to him. The others followed suit, linking up and squeezing together in the backseat so just the tension and how tightly fitted they were would probably keep them safe when he shut the door behind them.

Probably. He hoped.

He turned around again to find the ten-year-old sliding into the passenger seat, looking shaken and unhappy and _young_ but--calm.

And clinging to a deactivated lightsaber that was _way_ too big for his hands.

General Dooku was still standing in the entry.

Bail swallowed, and started to say something, to ask--

“Go,” Dooku cut him off. “May the Force be with you.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and ran back up the tunnel, back into the burning Temple, faster than Bail’s eyes could track.

Unarmed.

_Don’t get trapped in the problem._

“We need to go,” Bail said. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” the ten-year-old said.

He nodded, and slid back into the driver’s seat and peeled away from the Temple, driving as quickly--and legally--as he could under the circumstances.

_The Senator. I have to contact the Senator,_ Bail thought, as he eased into the flow of traffic. As he tried to forget the--the kid on the steps; Dooku’s hard eyes; the Jedi Master’s empty hands as he headed back into that nightmare…

_Focus on the potential solutions._

He shook it off, and activated the comm built into the speeder, waiting, hoping desperately that Senator Celchu was available, would actually pick up. He kept his eyes on traffic, other than sparing a glance over at the boy beside him, who was curled up in the seat with his eyes closed, hugging his knees to his chest, clinging white-knuckled to the lightsaber hilt.

She picked up. She picked up on the second ring.

_Oh, thank--thank whatever deities are out there._ Thank _you, whoever you are._

“Bail,” she said. “Thank--where _are_ you? You aren’t in quarters, you didn’t check in at the bunker--”

“Um,” he said. “Senator, I--uh, I may have done something…” He glanced over at the boy, who hasn’t moved. “...I may have done something rather...rash,” he repeated. Because he _couldn’t_ say it was stupid, or something he shouldn’t have done, but, okay, it _was_ kind of rash and impulsive.

But that wasn’t the _point._

“...what did you do.” It wasn’t a question.

“I was in the office,” he said. “When the alert came. And I was heading for the bunker, I swear, but I saw the smoke out the window, and…”

“Bail,” Senator Celchu said. “Bail, did you _go to the Temple?”_

Bail risked a glance at the small beings clustered in his backseat, and took a deep breath.

When he spoke, to his astonishment, his voice was completely steady.

“I have half a dozen toddlers and a ten-year-old in my speeder and I’m not sure what to do next. Please help.”

Two full seconds of silence ticked by, as her grainy hologram stared at him. “Half a dozen toddlers,” she repeated.

“And a ten-year-old,” Bail said. “...I think.”

“I’m ten,” the boy confirmed quietly.

“And a ten-year-old.”

Senator Celchu looked like _she_ aged a good ten years in that moment. “Get to our landing pad at the port,” she instructed. “We’ll get the children out on my ship, and you will explain in more detail what just happened.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bail said. “I will.”

“And Bail,” she said.

“Ma’am?”

“Drive very, _very_ carefully.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll see you shortly,” she said, and hung up before he could answer.

Bail let out a breath, and switched off the comm before shifting over another couple lanes. His shoulder was still throbbing, and his hands were starting to ache--probably gripping the steering column a little too tight--but he tried not to feel that just now, tried to hold on to that strange steadiness he’d found in his voice.

_Don’t get trapped in the problem. Focus on the next step. Focus on getting to the port. Senator Celchu will take it from there. And we’ll...we’ll...find a solution. Even if it’s not perfect. It’s better than nothing. It’s still a place to start._

The kids in the backseat were quiet, but he could feel the ten-year-old’s eyes on him; next time they stopped at a traffic light, he spared a glance over at him.

“I’m Bail,” he offered.

“I heard,” the kid said.

“...right.”

“I’m Obi-Wan,” he said.

Bail stopped himself before he said something stupid, like, “it’s nice to meet you,” because…

“Yeah,” he said, instead. Because he had to say _something,_ and then--nothing, as the light changed and the speeder started moving again.

“I’m glad you came,” Obi-Wan said, finally, after a long moment of silence. “That you were there.”

“Yeah,” he said again, and because, in the end, there were seven kids in his speeder, and it was _true,_ no matter what he’d seen, no matter how much his hands and his shoulder and his heart ached, he added--

“So am I.”


End file.
